she speaks like a good book would

She sits before me

Cross legged

A book, many volumes, in one

It is not an easy one either

So I reach out

I free her from the cotton and linen

And feel her embossed curves and edges

They are gentle and smooth

Warm and beautiful

I gently open the book half way through

Peeking in for a closer read

Her words taste like gentle hues

Of the setting sun and rising moons

The two halves of the book rustle

In moans and heavy breaths

I inch closer and closer

To feel the smell of the open book

And lose my mind, drenched in her words

As my tongue reads her inside out

work days of a quarantino

In sets of three

every picture, he has clicked

In different colours, togerher as a collage

Not serving to impress, influence, only postulate

If they didn't, he would himself scrap them

One in his hunger

Of knowledge and beyond

Questioning his own hunger for such

One of multidimensional thoughts

Or need thereof 

One of his need, wants, feelings of love

Rather its lacking, and if so whys'

One , where his tube searches for hers

Each

Distinct, yet a part apart a parting an apartheid 

Treated as such

Punished as such

Stilled

Unstilled, often in such wanton thoughts

Of macabre , of inconvenient, of unconcern

Only for it all to be nothing

To wake up in such thoughts

Randomly, to look at his watch

Its 11, work calls.

The lands of asunder

Follow me men

Follow me men

Follow me to the unexplored lands

Riddled with fire, ice , and lost hands

Where the only hope is exasperation

And love is but a fascination

Here we are the lesser men

Here we are the unapologetic 

Here we are the ones that cannot have the other

For our ego shall not be allowed to bend

Follow me men

Follow me men

To the lands that folklore teaches never to visit

Follow me men

Follow me men

To the darkest undertones of broken relationships

As we dip our feet in this Acheron 

Feel the wanton joys of winning

Let's forsake the golden coin

There is no boatman 

And there is no shore once you dip your feet in

There is only forward , onward to the cringe

For this is the paradise of rage.